


Five Times Zhu asked Roy for Help, and One Time She Didn't Have To

by Pegunicent



Series: Five Times Roy [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegunicent/pseuds/Pegunicent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a challenge prompt which won't make much sense I fear except to me and my best friend. Zhu Spitfire is my original character. Cannon events are unlikely to change much, cannon relationships hardly at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meddling with Hospital Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> While Roy Mustang is never referenced cannonly as being part Xing, in the second series he is shown to be an orphan at a young age, with his caretaker's last name. I made him a third generation immigrant based on his physical resemblance to the Xing characters and to give myself a reason for him to be Zhu's superior. 
> 
> Any speech between // is supposed to be Xing, and therefore understood by limited characters. I didn't want to bog down the story with Google Chinese. 
> 
> Zhu Spitfire is believed to be a first generation immigrant with Xing as her primary language. While the Xing characters in the second series spoke perfect English (or Amestrian), they were also royalty of a kind and given far better access to education than the majority of their people. That's my story and I'm running with it.

Falman blinked over his coffee cup as the atmosphere of the building suddenly shifted. "Incoming Spitfire!" 

Moments later the office door opened briskly to the jingle of silver bracelets and a smell of fresh lemons. Dr. Spitfire looked them all over suspiciously, pointed at Fuery and snapped "You late for check up. This week, no excuses!"

Fuery nearly smacked himself saluting, and Falman heard the click of his swallow from two desks away. "Yes Ma'am!" Nodding in grim satisfaction the diminutive woman stalked down the hall and rapped sharply on the door frame. "Colonel."

"Come in Major, it's always open for a lady." Roy's voice was smugly cajoling for only having had, Falman looked at the clock, one cup of coffee. 

"You can stop saluting Fuery."

"No I can't, my knees locked up and if I move I'll fall over." The poor man grit out, sweat visibly wilting his collar. 

\---------------------

"So, Major, is there a reason you're terrorizing my staff at this unhappy hour?" Roy asked lazily, watching as his door was closed and summarily glared at by gunmetal gray eyes. 

"Staff late for appointment." She growled, prowling around his office like something caged. Her hair was up in its typical braided bun, two chopsticks sticking out absently as if she'd finished dinner and decided to skip the dishes. Though he appreciated the view of her long legs, the white lab coat and walking shoes took away from the overall image. Especially when he knew the mini-skirt was simply her defiance in the face of a uniform to a man and nation she considered terrible war criminals. 

"I'll be sure to have the Lieutenant remind them of their duties to physical fitness. Anything else Doctor.?"

When she met his eyes, he had to fight the reflex to check his gloves. //I need your help.// 

Carefully he unplugged the phone and stood to check the view outside his window. "Lieutenant? Would you mind bringing us some more coffee, the Major needs her caffeine before attending all those patients." When he heard Hawkeye leave her desk and secure the office, he sat back down and gave Zhu his full attention. //What's wrong?//

The gratitude in her eyes made him feel like a heel. 

//Someone is poisoning my patients. I don't know why, or how, but they come in with simple illnesses, easily treatable, and within hours they'll be too sick to leave! I tested all our water, our food, the air, it's not environmental. It's always the very old, or the very young. They come in by appointment and I see them, I make sure everything is all right... then before they can leave they'll start complaining about stomach pains, nausea, start vomiting blood... Three of them nearly *died* before I could stabilize them!// Her words came fast and staccato, fingers laced so tightly together her scarred knuckles were bloodless. 

He kept his voice low, watching her as his mind raced. //And you're sure it's not a disease, something they can catch?// 

//I took samples, their blood and urine showed arsenic.//

A regular doctor might miss elemental poisoning, especially in low doses, but Zhu was a State Alchemist. If she said there were moon rocks in her patient's colons, Roy would still demand evidence, but he'd take her word. //Let me make some calls. Go to work. Act normal. We'll find who is doing this.//

He would need a lot of time and whisky to bury the memory of her desperate eyes. She'd probably insist on him *sharing* the drinks after all. 

\------------------

"Everyone doing well 'Elizabeth'?"

"The family's just fine sir, it's just Papa Francis's arthritis." 

Roy held back a sigh and wondered how many bullets he'd have to dodge if he told Riza her undercover voice was the same as her sniper one. Falman at least seemed to be doing his part, you'd hardly know that bent and wobbly man was the same one this morning jogging five miles for his 'wake up run'. 

Zhu was in her element, a small dark storm scattering Xing curses and broken Amestrain orders about as she dodged around nurses, tended gently to her patients and bullied the unfortunates who thought they knew better than the Doctor about their health. Roy rarely willingly came to the medical ward, so it was something of a novelty to witness the skilled practice of making order from chaos without an array in sight. 

"Dr. Spitfire, it's lunch time."

"Yes yes, you go, call Rossi cover desk." 

"Aren't you going? Dr. Neya is already back..."

For a moment he saw her hesitate, gaze flitting to the doors that led to the emergency wards. "I.... yes, I go, just need office things." Things like her carryall, and the bag of cat food she kept especially for the feral feline population in the park down the street. Zhu was nothing if not one of his most predictable subordinates. Lunch in the park, for one hour, eating cold take out leftovers from the mess hall. 

"Mister Francis? The doctor will see you now."

Zhu didn't even blink, scribbling her name on the out sheet and whirling for her office all leashed adrenaline and martial grace. Her thighs really were spectacular. 

\-----------------

"So?"

Falman set a small disposable cup on the table. "Pretty standard check up, I shouldn't strain myself too much, here's a prescription for some cold medicine to help with the cough and until I fill it, drink lots of fluids. Like the water that was waiting in this cup when I got in the room. Took the doctor long enough to get there I got thirsty." He then set a small piece of paper on the table, damning blue at the end. 

They all frowned at the cup. 

"Arsenic in the water?"

"And no idea who planted it." 

Breda glowered. "It had to be someone on duty today right, a nurse or doctor."

"But it could have been any of them, they all have free run of the hospital, and access to the sitting rooms." Fuery countered. 

Roy stared at the the bland, generic little paper cup so common, so invisible... "Dr. Neya didn't seem surprised you were fine enough to leave?" 

Falman shook his head. "He didn't seem much of anything. Bedside manner of a bland lampshade."

"Well now what do we do? Fuery isn't *that* young..." 

"And Falman's prints are on that thing, no way we can lift something useful..."

Roy shook his head and picked up the cup. "You'll watch the exits and prepare to apprehend our poisoner. The Lieutenant and I will handle the rest."

\--------------------------------------

"Sir?"

"Someone wants to hurt her, and they're hurting her patients to do it. I won't stand for this Lieutenant, endangering innocent lives for a personal grudge? It's disgraceful."

"I'm assuming you have a *plan* Sir." 

Roy's grin could probably be described as 'hungry' by those who didn't know him that well. "They failed to get their victim today, they won't leave until they've hurt someone. Dr. Spitfire always works the pediatrics in the evenings." 

"She likes to make sure the children are comfortable, to keep down nightmares." Riza agreed tonelessly, eyes sharp as she followed his line of thought.  


Roy let Riza take the lead after he charmed his way past the front desk, keeping his mind on the puzzle of their poisoner. Hospitals were always depressing places, military ones even more so, and the pediatrics... To go home at night after facing this day in and day out would drive any person to unhealthy habits. Obsessions. 

The turn over rate of doctors went down in peacetime, but hospitals still lost their best and brightest every year to depressive burnout. 

"Maa, Michael. How you feel, hm?" 

Riza caught his eye and they found places to hide, her in the doorway of another patient's room, him around the corner pretending to read the supportive motto under an abstract painting. 

"I still don't feel good." Whined a voice so similar to Alphonse Elric's that Roy caught himself straining for the tinny echo. "Do I have to stay?"

"Saaa, I can't make you feel better if you go. I'm sorry Michael, I know is scary, but I work hard, make medicine to make you better alright?"

"Really?"

"Hah. You know I'm Xing witch, yes? I hear you whispering with Saul. My magic very strong, make great medicine. You rest. Soon, you feel better."

She said it with pride, as though the whispers and racist mocking from her fellow alchemists were a joke. The way she shrugged off the jeers for studying medical alchemy, and her refusal during the war to leave her post in the med-tents. 

He watched through the reflection on the painting's glass as she left the boy's room, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath her eyes. Checking the papers on the door, she sighed, straightened her shoulders and dragged a smile on for whoever was unfortunately laid up down the hall. Resolutely cheerful and optimistic in the face of fear and pain. 

Slipping into her office to steal a coat, he determined once again to force her to take an actual vacation one day. 

While lurking around a hospital as it closed down should have been suspicious; a white coat, a distant frown of tired confusion and a stolen clipboard were an excellent disguise that few had the energy to question. 

Riza didn't even have time to get decently bored before someone who belonged less than they did came through the ward. Granted he had the credentials, the authority, and his own clipboard. He was also carrying a paper cup of water.

"Hey there Michael! You ready to take your meds tonight?"

"Doctor Spitfire already gave me some..."

"Oh did she? Well, I'll be, must have read the chart wrong. I'll just leave this here in case you get thirsty then, you sleep well now alright?"

"Goodnight Doctor Weston."

Roy nodded for Riza to follow the doctor, while he retrieved the cup before poor Michael got a hold of it. 

"Huh?"

"Sorry, slight problems with the water here, you can get a juice from the nurses." Roy gave the boy, small, young, terribly thin he realized, a charming smile. Too-bright blue eyes stared at him until he ducked back out, expression going grim. "Doctor Weston, let's take a walk."

\---------------------

"Doctor Weston? But *why*? He's good doctor!" 

Roy sighed over his glass. For all her faults, at least Zhu had good taste in alcohol. "No, he was a *brilliant* doctor, one of the best to graduate from Central University, and no matter what he did, *you* did it better, in half the time, with *alchemy*. In his mind, you were *cheating*."

The look she gave him before slugging back her own finger's worth of burning amber was utterly horrified. It matched how he'd felt listening to the man confess. 

"We *save* people! We help people! That is what makes doctor! Not... not a *competition*!"

"Perhaps not if you're moderately moralistic. He swears he never meant to kill anyone, just to get you discredited and 'removed back to a lab somewhere' but the court isn't going to be lenient when it hears how his last victim was your little Michael. What's wrong with him anyway?"

She stared into her glass, lips tight. "Cancer. You know cancer? Body kills itself. He has this, in bones. Spreading."

"Contagious?"

She shook her head, bowing it to hide behind the loose fall of her hair. "No. I don't know cause. I can't find cure. Only treatment. Time. Month's maybe. Not enough."

Roy bit back his apologies and condolences. She didn't need them, she needed doctors. Fellow dedicated, brilliant doctors, and the best she had he'd just arrested. Silently he poured them both more whiskey.


	2. Meddling With Police

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything in italics is supposed to be a flash back.

Roy looked up at the tentative knock on his door, pulling on a smile for the nervous looking young nurse wilting under Riza's hard stare. "Good evening, is there something I can help you with miss..."

"Greta. Uh, Colonel Mustang Sir. I was... that is it was shift change and Dr. Spitfire asked me to tell you she can't make it to dinner tonight..."

Roy sighed then turned his most charming smile on her. "See how she is? I don't suppose you'd be free this evening..."

Greta's cheeks went bright pink and she looked ready to bolt. Almost painfully shy, nothing like Roy's type at all. 

Letting her stammer her regrets and flee, he turned over the message. He'd been planning to eat dinner alone after an evening trip to Madam Christmas, as usual. As far as he knew, Zhu ate at the evening mess when she didn't occasionally splurge at the one half decent Xing themed restaurant in the city. 

So Zhu needed to speak, at the hospital, after hours. "Lieutenant, it seems my date has abandoned me. Could I convince you to share a drink this evening?"

Riza's dark eyes held a glimmer he couldn't decipher. When it came to Hawkeye, he tried not to reach too deeply, he'd already asked more from her than anyone ever should. "I suppose Sir, that I do not have prior plans." 

\-----------------------------------

Since Zhu only kept a bottle of that terrifying plum 'wine' in her desk for 'special occasions' where she wished to horrify and shorten any visit with an unwanted superior, Roy picked up a bottle of honey whiskey on his way over. They'd drank a lot in the war, most of it too quickly to appreciate for flavor. 

The night clerk blinked at him, and smartly saluted. "Colonel Sir!"

"Now now, none of that, we're all off duty by *now* aren't we? Well, some of us at least. Is Doctor Spitfire in her office?" He chided gently, playing up the tiredness in his voice. 

The man flushed a bit but shook his head. "Sorry Sir, I don't think so. Last I saw she was still in the emergency ward... do you want me to go find her?"

"Over working herself as usual. No no, I'll just wait in her office if that's alright. Nothing's more important than saving lives after all." Roy waved the man off and made his way upstairs to the 'offices', rooms that made his seem practically luxurious. With rank came space, apparently. 

Doctor Major Long Zhu Spitfire read the small brass plate on the door. It was a point with her, which title came first. The door was unlocked, practically an invitation. Riza made herself at home, secreting out the small formal porcelain-ware set Zhu used and pouring a few fingers into two small, black butterfly patterned cups. The Lieutenant wasn't off duty then he noted. 

The desk was buried in files, the walls in bookshelves stuffed with both Xing and Amestrian texts. She didn't even have a window, the spare space on the walls holding her certifications, and a single silkscreen painting she'd done herself. It hung in prominent display as soon as you walked through the door, a black inked flame with a circle of Xing writing so stylized he could barely read the upside down and backwards bits. 

"Shuǐ dī shí chuān, shéng jù mù duàn". He read aloud, snorting and shaking his head. 

"Sir?" 

He gestured to the painting. "Dripping water pierces stone, saws of rope cut through wood. It's an old proverb Lieutenant, about patience." With fondness he recalled the last 'conversation' he'd shared with the Major on the subject. 

_//Those serpent kissing monkey balled spineless seahorse fucking *Generals*!// She ranted wildly, coat and vest so spattered with blood he started searching for wounds. //And you fucking obey them! Dog!//_

_He'd blame the alcohol later for letting her grab his pistol from the table and the bottle from his hand. Purely drunken reflexes, not the sharp stab of guilt and shame. He let her get three long swallows before stealing the bottle back. "Shooting them won't fix anything. They're just Generals. The Fuhrer can get as many of those as he wants."_

_//Then I'll kill **him!** // She snarled and even though he was the only one for a thousand miles who spoke Xing, as far as he knew, he still looked around for eavesdroppers and the execution squad. //No one who orders this... this genocide deserves to live anyway!// She glared down at the pistol like it personally offended her, pointed it blindly at the wall and pulled the trigger spastically. Roy thanked all Hawkeye's persistent lessons for remembering to put on the safety._

_Reaching out to take the gun back he murmured, "Don't pull the trigger unless you intend to kill what you're aiming at." He let her steal the bottle again as he secured the pistol at his hip. "Killing him won't do any good either, we're a military government, the next in line will just step forward to take up the reins."_

_//Then I'll kill however many it takes!// The tears in her eyes made his guts churn. //We'll still have less graves! You know I'm right!//_

_An idea, a drunken, desperate idea was swimming through his mind. "There's a difference between being right, and making things right. One gets you buried the other... would take a very long time I think."_

_//I'm not patient.//_

_He smiled, a dark flame of hope and resolution settling in his heart. "No... you just treat them."_

_She glared at him, the rotgut finally sinking in, and promptly transmuted his uniform to shreds. He cursed her for a humorless harpy, the desert was *damned* cold and there was no way he'd get his drunk hands to make a decent array for hours._

"Some people need reminders." Her voice cut through his reminiscing. She looked, in his honest opinion, like rough hell. Except for lacking the bloodstains and her hair being long enough to pull back in a sloppy bun, she was the same bruised and sallow too-skinny woman with more energy than mass. "Greta found you."

"Your nurses seems overly nervous of my presence, Doctor, whatever are you telling them about me?" he moved away from the desk and watched her shut the door. She moved with the exhaustion of someone who'd not only been on their feet all day, but on their feet in a place as depressing as a hospital. 

"Only truth, you a pervert horse likes being ridden to bed by anyone." She murmured, taking one of the cups with a small smile and sipping appreciatively. "Riza, you lovely tonight." Roy let the sarcasm slide over him and refrained from defending himself too strenuously. 

"I do have *standards* you know." 

"Thank you, Ma'am." 

"If you're done trying to woo away my Lieutenant?"

Zhu's eyes fell to the stacks of files, and she moved to sit down, pulling a set from the rest. "I need help."

"I can refer a few psychiatrists..." 

//Moron equine, I'm serious.// She pushed the files at them, so together Riza and Roy started looking though the clinical, detached facts. "Eight cases come to me in year. All same. I ask other hospitals, clinics, find five more. I call to police, they no call back."

"Most immigrants are hesitant to trust the police enough to report abuses from men in uniforms." Riza pointed out, tone grim. 

"And many Xing are still so backwards that a 'used' woman will be shunned for a decent marriage." Roy grimaced, staring at a picture of a girl who couldn't be more than twenty. 

"Tonight was worst. Tonight..." Zhu took a long, fortifying sip of sweet amber fire while Roy watched. "Tonight twins. One, coma, one, morgue. I do all I can. I repair.. damage. //That monster used them both!// Soul pain... I can't fix. Make want live... Make want wake up... //He has to be stopped Mustang, he *has* to be//."

"He will be Doctor. I promise."

\----------------------

"Racial tensions in Amestrias have improved since the war, haven't they Lieutenant?" Roy asked as he pulled on his gloves. 

"You could say that Sir." She agreed tonelessly, checking her sidearms. 

"All soldiers go through basic non-hostility training now, don't they? A requirement to pass uniformity and community care classes?"

"Current enlisted are required Sir, no one commissioned or drafted during the war however." She corrected. "Or State Alchemists."

He shook his head and stared at his glove for a long moment. "I think, Lieutenant, we'd have found less evidence if we were dealing with an alchemist of any skill." 

They shared a knowing and bleak look. The only evidence at all were traumatized women who would likely refuse to give statements, and a single body.

"Early meeting in the morning, call everyone into my office."

"Yes Sir."

\--------------------------

"What we have, gentlemen, is a serial rapist and now murderer loose in Central City. His victims so far have been primarily Xing immigrants and their descendants, girls with very specific facial features ranging in age from thirteen to twenty-four. Normally this would be a matter for civilian police, however, we are given to believe that the perpetrator is a member of the Amestrias Army, which means he's breaking the fundamental laws of governance and sowing racial and civilian unrest in the populace! For the sake of continued peace I am assigning you to the duty of investigation. Anything you see, or hear on the matter is to be reported straight to Captain Hughes or myself."

Roy looked them over, eyes hard, and saw nothing but grim resolution and righteous anger. They were good men, the best. "Are there any questions?"

Fury raised a hand. 

"Yes Sergeant?"

"Are we authorized to make an arrest if we find sufficient evidence Sir?"

Roy shook his head. "The victims were all civilians, while technically you could make a case for an arrest, it would hold more weight with the court if the arrest came from an officer, rather than an off duty enlisted." 

"Understood Sir."

"I will, however, make sure the judge and jury know *everyone* was involved in the criminal's apprehension." 

\-------------------------------

Roy and Hughes split the personnel files between them. Even looking only at those commissions signed during the war and previous, the sheer number of enlisted in Central City was staggering. 

They were finding more and more were assholes every day as well. After the first week, they'd managed only to eliminate the ones who'd been re-assigned during the attacks, or in the infirmary themselves. Many commanding officers were reluctant to file harassment reports, having an old boy's club sort of accord. Roy blessed Riza and her bore-sight stare that kept so many otherwise sexist pigs from making comments that would require him to turn them into briquettes. 

"You know, I think we can rule out anyone that Spitfire treated in the war." Hughes murmured over coffee. The cafe they met up in was cozy, well-lit, and tended to a younger crowd. 

"Why? *You've* been treated by her, you think that sort of thing can't turn you to hating all Xing witches?" Roy arched a brow, sipping at the wonderful dark brew. 

"When she's got a vaccination in hand? What I'm saying is... she treated a lot of guys. Kept them whole, saved their limbs and commissions. Their lives. That tends to garner a feeling of loyalty, Colonel."

It was true, other than Marcoh she'd been the only medical alchemist on the front lines. At the time her Amestrian consisted of pointing and shouting simple words like 'That. Give, now!' and 'Live!'. Her skill with medical alchemy was unsurpassed, except by Doctor Marcoh who had his own reasons for letting some patients close to the edge *wait*. Who had his reasons for not trusting Mustang as far as the Flame Alchemist could spread his *ashes*. 

"Someone who never saw the med-tents from the inside then?" There were many who came out completely unscathed, physically, because they stayed *behind* the State Alchemists. 

"And probably joined up near the tail end. Never saw the real action, never saw their buddies being patched back together from pieces." Hughes voice was his 'I'm hunting a snake but I've got bigger fangs' one. "Someone who wouldn't recognize the Green Alchemist."

Roy gave his friend a hard look. "You can't want to use her as *bait*." 

"Well, they haven't exactly targeted guys yet..."

Roy dismissed the jab, as he did Madam Christmas's derogatory 'Roy-boy' and the whispered remarks of 'far too pretty' from people who thought his alchemy was more flash than substance. Zhu would go with the idea, she had enough of a martyr complex she'd *volunteer*, and not understand his reluctance to use her when he'd pointed her more than once at men of rank he needed 'sensitive' intel on. "We're not talking about some blackmail material or a chance to get ahead of an idiot, this man is a rapist and a murderer who drugs his victims and leaves their bodies in filthy alley ways." Roy argued, keeping his voice quiet. 

"And he targets pretty young Xing women. Now, Spitfire's a little outside his range, but... can you think of a better hook?"

"She's only *half* Xing."

"And with glasses or something to hide her eyes you'd never know that." She's closer to Xing than *you* hung unsaid in the air. 

Roy never missed his parents and grandmother more keenly, than when he was faced with how little he knew of their homeland. How little he'd bothered to learn in all the years since, because he was Amestrian, in Amestria, fighting its wars. 

"After we've identified who we're actually suspecting... then we'll ask her."

\-----------------------------

He wasn't used to seeing her in make up. Watching her seduce Lieutenant Chavez, the fourth on their list so far, he contemplated the phenomenon. Of course in the war there'd been little point. Afterwards they saw each other infrequently, for all that she was officially still his subordinate. It was subtle, enough to highlight the slant of her eyes and the sallow complexion of her skin. Fresh lacquer graced her nails, dark red like her dress. She still had her coat and semi-sensible shoes, as though this was something casual she'd like to turn less so and Chavez was utterly caught. 

She laughed brightly at something the man said and hid her mouth shyly behind those scarred fingers. After a few moments she excused herself to the restroom. Roy ate his chicken. After three other dates that ended in nothing more dangerous than extreme boredom, he was starting to consider a new approach. 

Chavez reached into his pocket and pulled out *something* that he summarily dumped in the Major's coffee. Since she took it as black as the Fuher's heart, Roy highly doubted it was *sugar*. He entertained a brief fantasy of lighting the man like a human torch. 

Even knowing Hawkeye and Fuery were laying in wait, that Hughes *would* find enough for a hanging or firing squad, his blood still went cold as she came back and took a deep sip. There'd been two more rapes since Zhu'd come to him. The twin had never woken up. 

The ice was a comfort in a way. Riza wouldn't have to shoot him yet. 

He couldn't hear what they were saying, tried to keep from being noticed as picking at his plate. 

Chavez actually reached out to touch a long lock of dark hair. Artfully she turned into the caress, the small smile on her face one Mustang recognized. She was fantasizing about harming someone very badly indeed. Leaning into the table she took a longer, deeper drink. Chavez leaned in as well, caught like a moth to flame. 

They made it all the way through desert before she started looking off. Roy called over for his check and made his way outside, pulling on his gloves. When they came out she was hanging off his arm and stumbling, eyes barely open. 

"You know, you're not usually my type Doctor... I'm so glad I came out with you though." Chavez said, Roy's hackles rising from where he stood in the shadows. 

"Saa? Good date yes? Ah, sorry, feel strange..."

"Yes, it was very good. I was surprised, you know. Your eyes are pale gray. That means you're what, a half breed?"

"Eh? //Fenghuan help me from racist assholes// I don't know, I don't remember parents. Oh my head..."

"They probably left you like the trash you were." Chavez's tone never changed from sickeningly besotted as he maneuvered her drunkenly to the mouth of a nearby alley. "Half-breed garbage."

"Makes me wonder why you find her so attractive then Lieutenant." Roy murmured, hand up and fingers set to snap. 

From deeper in the alley Riza stalked forward, pistol centered between the man's eyes. "Because she's Doctor Major Long Zhu Spitfire, Sir."

"Well said." 

\--------------------------

"I understand commendations are in order." Basque sneered. Roy felt sure the man's face was actually built that way. "Perhaps a promotion or two."

"I wouldn't go that far." Roy replied, keeping his expression politely neutral. "Most of the credit should go to Captain Hughes. After all, he discovered what was going on."

"And *you* put your own subordinate in the line of fire. Here we all thought you had something going on with the little butterfly."

Roy arched a brow of his own and shrugged. "She volunteered."


	3. Meddling With Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything in italics is supposed to be a flash back.

Roy looked up and blinked at Falman's sudden shout, glancing at the clock. Of course the woman would decide to pester him before any decent *waking* hour. 

Before he could come up with something witty to say and still hide his yawn, Spitire was seating herself on his couch and plopping a take out carrier of coffee cups on his desk. Good coffee from the smell. The paper cups had a stylized chimera on them from the cafe he chose to frequent when he resolutely wanted a day *away* from military intrigues. 

Then she put a tin of biscotti on the desk. 

"Alright, look, I know when I'm being bribed. I'll listen to whatever hair-brained archaic none-sense you want." He sighed, pulling one of the cups closer to inhale the wonderful steam. 

Riza shook her head from the doorway, which was when he realized there were in fact three cups. "You're hopeless Sir." She muttered, taking her own cup and three of the cookies before leaving and purposefully shutting the door. 

Zhu took her time, letting him drink and savor one delightful cookie before saying anything. "You know what is next week?" 

He scratched at his memory, then checked the calendar on his desk. "The Lieutenant's leave?" 

"Riza's birthday!"

He nodded, not sure what she was getting at. "Yes, she has a week's leave and a chitty for five hundred spare rounds at the range of the caliber of her choice. Same thing I give her every year. Why?" He also had an unspoken understanding with her that he wouldn't do anything too dangerous or idiotic while she was supposed to be relaxing and enjoying some time away from Colonel sitting. 

Zhu glared at him then flopped back in disgust. "I need help. I need idea for birthday gift!"

"I thought you gave her spa tickets."

"Spa closed this year, renovations. I no find other good one." She started ticking off her fingers. "She no want jewelry, no perfume, no clothes, already have dog." Here she paused and gave him a look he ignored in favor of carefully dunking another biscotti. "Already vacation no go anywhere, I no have authority for chitty, last time I give bath things she give homeless!"  


"The Lieutenant is particular in her bathing accessories I suppose, and the homeless are in need." He shrugged. 

"I need idea!"

With a sigh he set his coffee to the side for a moment. "Major, there are few things in this world that Lieutenant Hawkeye *needs* and fewer still she *wants*, that I am aware of. Nothing that she is not in a position to acquire for herself at least. What she *appreciates* are quality firearms, time to herself, well mannered subordinates, and clear targets. Outside of those things it is neither my place, nor in my interest, to *poke*." 

From the stubborn set of her chin, Spitfire believed him about as much as she believed the Fuher when he claimed something was 'in the interest of the nation'.  


"If you want an idea on what to give the Lieutenant that she will enjoy, use and be grateful to receive, I'd look in the latest issue of 'High Powered Survival'." He said finally. "Now... don't you have a hospital to terrorize?"

The slump in her shoulders as she left wasn't defeated, but he still felt like he'd kicked Black Hayate off a bridge.

\-----------------------------

Riza gave him a look later, as she brought yet more paperwork to the mountain trying valiantly to collapse his desk. She said nothing, merely glanced at the tin he'd been unwilling to finish. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize, instead he waved distractedly at it. "Go ahead Lieutenant, I'm a bit busy to appreciate them at the moment."

It was the closest he'd allow himself. It wasn't his fault she'd been raised by a man who never appreciated her, idealizing a military that ended up failing to match those ideals. She was who she was, who he needed her to be. Sometimes he wondered what they'd be like, to each other, for each other, if circumstances were different. Then he'd remember the scars on her back and set aside such pointless meanderings. 

"Thank you Sir. The Major has excellent taste." 

He smiled ruefully, staring at the military letterhead of whatever report he'd grabbed. "Yes. She certainly does."

\--------------------------------

_"So... what does Tianshi mean?"_

_Roy fought not to blush or stammer, coughing instead and searching for something that wasn't quite a lie. He doubted she'd appreciate the truth, just as she didn't truly appreciate the calf eyes or worshipful attention of their newest Xing ally. "It's a title of respect, for someone you feel has saved your life. Very old fashioned. Once she can properly pronounce her 'r's' I'll stress the importance of using your name and rank."_

_Riza's brown eyes glared at him knowingly but he refused to give in. It was hard enough on her being a women in the army, and with a General as her grandfather. The rumors of her relationships would just be..._

_And damn that little witch for not knowing how to be discrete! Just because he was the only one who could understand her sighing about her 'angel' didn't mean everyone else in uniform was *blind*!_

_"I see." she said finally, and Roy really really hoped that for once she didn't._

\----------------------------------

Locking the doors to the office, Roy settled his hat firmly down over his brow and started the long walk home. He'd sent them all off hours earlier, determinedly finishing the impossible workload that came with anticipating an entire week without his right hand. 

Ignoring the glowing ember from Havok's lit cigarette, he bypassed the unspoken invitation of a ride and let his feet take him down the paved and swept sidewalks towards the officer's housing district. State Alchemists had their own little sublet, each building set just far enough apart that random explosions could be ignored and fires hopefully contained rather than spreading to the adjacent building. 

By right Major Spitire could have had one, but when she'd applied for her housing allowance, she'd listed an address in the poorer, and much closer, district of Laboratory four. Minutes walking from Central Hospital. One day, Roy feared, he might have to call the Elrics 'neighbors'. 

By then he hoped his living arrangements would include the Fuher's mansion, just so he wouldn't have to deal with Edward pounding on his door in the middle of the night to declare something *else* Mustang's personal fault. 

His own home was a standard affair, two stories and most of the upper level given to an office and library with a second library hidden behind doors that existed only in potential. He lived here, brought back some of his dates and did the bulk of his research in the basement but there was little about it he'd call 'home'. 

Home was somewhere you went to be with the people you loved after all. 

Letting himself in and locking the door behind him, he wondered what a home with Riza and Zhu in it would look like. Impossibly neat and sterile probably, with two used bedrooms. A kitchen with a lot of alcohol. A yard for the dog, and a room for Riza's armory, with little potted plants all about the place. 

Snorting away the image he went for the refrigerator and reminded himself that they'd both starve without a mess hall.

\------------------------------------------

_"Maes, hold on, we're almost there." Roy grit out, half carrying his friend up the hill. The white and red cross of the med-tent flag snapped in the wind, a beacon of grim hope._

_"I'm fine Roy... it's a clean shot... they won't have to take the leg... they won't have to take my leg right Roy?" Hughe's voice was nearly hysteric from pain and blood-loss. Roy refused to look away from the tent, gripping the taller man tight as he stumbled and dragged._

_"You'll be fine Maes." Riza replied instead, covering their backs and firing short, precise shots down into the front line fray._

_Steps from the tightly lashed canvas Roy called out //Forsaken witch! We need help!//_

_Blood soaked uniform nearly purple in places and black in others the small Xing girl rushed out, hands scrubbed raw and sleeves cut off entirely. //Stop yelling! Everyone needs help, you canine bastard. Here, in here I have a free cot in the back...// She guided them through the sudden darkness of the large tent to a mattress hastily flipped to hide the gore from its previous occupant. All around nurses scrambled with moaning and crying soldier's, scurrying water, bandages and other supplies to wherever they might make a difference. //Lay him down here.// "Nurse!"_

_Roy didn't realize until he'd been shoved roughly aside that Riza was still outside. Feeling lost, he backed to the wall, watching as his best friend groaned and cursed, small hands determinedly straightening and assessing the damage to his leg. "Strap!" //You, hold his hand, this will hurt, I have to set the fracture!//  
_

_"He was shot..." Roy fumbled, composure lost._

_"Roy! What the devil is she doing?!"_

_"Strap!" //Hold his goddamned hand soldier!// She snapped and Roy obeyed, grabbing Maes hand like a lifeline as a nurse shoved a thick strap of canvas and leather between the man's teeth. Staring past cracked lenses to terrified eyes, Roy found himself praying. There was a sickening wet crack and Hughes *howled*, the grip he had on Roy grinding the alchemist's bones together._

_Snapping his gaze down to the wound he had just enough time to flinch himself before the sadistic woman poured steaming hot water over the ragged bullet wound. "Are you crazy! You're supposed to help him!"_

_If she heard him at all she didn't give a sign, hands forming a circle with finger tips to wrists. A flicker of green lightening, the sign of an alchemic reaction, erupted briefly over the wound as she planted her hands on the furry skin. Blood and liquid metal welled up and away as she watched. "Potion!"_

_The same nurse holding the strap delved into her apron and came back with a tiny vial of glowing blue fluid. "In or out doctor?!"_

_"Both!"_

_In confusion he caught the nurses steady eyes right before she yanked away the strap and poured half the vial of liquid into Maes's mouth, clamping down with her other hand to force the man to swallow and passing the remainder to the girl who dumped it right in the bullet hole. Coughing and sputtering Maes shook, then convulsed, flesh knitting itself rapidly back together at impossible speed._

_//What did you do? What... *how*...//_

_//Xing magic. My potions are very strong, it will save his leg. I don't have many, you stupid horse, so if someone else dies because I didn't have one...// She glared at him briefly, then at the cursing, shuddering form of Maes. //Get him out of my tent. I have people to treat in here.// "Water! Scrub!" She turned away, already gone back to the world of the dying and broken as he pulled Maes close._

_"She didn't take my leg. Oh god that hurts so bad Roy, I never want to be shot again. Fuck that sucked so bad."_

_Roy closed his eyes and gave himself a moment to bask in the tearful babble._

\------------------------------------------

Roy contemplated the glass of whiskey. If he drank, he'd remember more than he wanted to. If he didn't, he'd brood on things current that brooding couldn't fix. 

He'd never appreciated Doctor Spitfire much before that day, when hostilities at the front erupted in more than a threatening standoff. He'd seen her as someone in the back, mostly unnoticeable except when she made his life in particular difficult. 

He thought it might have been the same for Hawkeye. Certainly after those events, the two women had seemed to reach a more friendly accord. At least, a warmer one on Riza's part. 

He'd been the one tasked as her translator and teacher of Amestrian, even though he already had a duty to guard Doctor Marcoh whenever he wasn't sent out to burn Ishvarites. He should have known, should have realized sooner, that Doctor Marcoh spent little time comparatively, actually saving people's lives. Roy should have recognized the older man's passion wasn't for healing. At the time he'd been over-awed by Marcoh's brilliance as an alchemist, and at the speed from which he took Spitfire's unique talents and bent them to creating the amplifier stones. 

Roy had gotten over his immature, adolescent resentment of the woman. Against all odds he'd managed to salvage something of a friendship with her. A mutual respect. She in turn had learned the art of discretion, or at least the basic skill of not bringing too much attention. It was small and petty of him to be relieved that Riza returned as much affection to the doctor as she did him, seeing, if he had to guess, something of an enthusiastic little sister at most in the woman. He should want them both to be happy, and perhaps to be happy together, if that's where things went. If he was a better person, he would have told Zhu that Riza like sunflowers, and the strawberry cheesecakes at the diner near the canal and fresh apples.

With a sigh he set aside his drink and headed to bed. He wasn't in the mood for more memories.

\---------------------------------------------

"What is it?"

"Dunno, it's big though."

"Think she'll open it here?"

Roy arched a brow at the whispering in his staff room and walked in with a stifled yawn. Saturday, a mere six hours of desk work if he didn't drag his feet, and already there were mysteries to tackle?

"What's up boys?" He asked, watching the men guilty edge away from the Lieutenants desk. 

"It was here when we unlocked the door Sir!" Fuery said with a salute. 'It' was apparently a large brown wrapped package taking up the bulk of Hawkeye's desk. 

"The Elrics aren't due in are they?" Thinking of who might have the audacity to break into the office. 

"Not for at least another month Sir, you ordered them off to Liore and the train back has a two week turn around." Falman confirmed. 

Momentarily stymied, he contemplated the package. The likelihood it was a bomb was low, because no one with any self preservation at all would try and blow up *Hawkeye's* desk. Then there was the fact that her birthday was Wednesday, the office would be closed Sunday and her Leave began Sunday night... "One of her suitor's has taken the adage, go big or go home' to heart it seems. Back to your posts, if she feels like gracing us with her present, I'm sure she will."

He didn't even make it to his own desk before the bets were being placed.

\--------------------------------

He made a point of getting his own coffee when she came in, watching from near the pot as Black Hayate sauntered past Breda to sniff at his bed. 

If Riza was surprised at the state of her furniture, she didn't show it. There was no card on the outside of the package, merely an address label postmarked the day before. They all watched and waited as she took a boot knife to the twine, then to the paper itself, expertly slicing away the layers like a bomb diffuser. After carefully pulling off the lid however, her expression changed to one Roy hadn't seen in years. 

Childlike delight. 

"The Mos-Nag Carb 1920!" Reaching into the box she pulled out what to Roy's eyes appeared the mechanical chimera of an automatic pistol and a scope-less sniper rifle. "Five round magazine, auto eject, rear line sights..." She stroked a hand down along the stock and they all as one shivered. "...and a bayonet."

Roy coughed into his fist. "Let's hope you don't have cause to use it any time soon, Lieutenant. Any idea who would know you so well?"

She blinked and looked around, then cleared her throat, setting the gun back in its box with obvious reluctance and pulling out a small white card. "It says here that I should thank you, Sir, for giving Doctor Spitfire the advice."

Smiling softly he saluted her with his coffee mug. "Well, that's what friends are for. Happy birthday Lieutenant."


	4. Meddling in the Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally something a bit lighter hearted?

Roy's phone rang and he blinked. It was the weekend, he was off duty, and Maes was supposed to be fixing up the house in an effort to do something actually *productive* for his wife and their anniversary. 

Wiping his hands on a towel, he turned down the heat on the eggs and reached to pick up the receiver. "Hello, Colonel Mustang."

"You're Colonel Mustang, I'm Long Zhu!"

Snorting into the phone he allowed himself to roll his eyes, the tension in his shoulders melting away. "Major, I know I have explained the etiquette in phones and their usage. Obviously you've figured out the later, the former is just manners. Something I'm sure you'll get accustomed to *eventually*."

He smirked through the frustrated blistering of Xing curses, focusing on turning his eggs and adding his preferred omelette fixings. Diced ham and bacon, some shredded cheese, onions and peppers and as she wound down he flipped, folded the eggs over and poured just a few chopped tomatoes on top so they'd warm but not cook. 

"Besides insulting my ancestry and choice of partners was there a reason to interrupt my breakfast Major?" He ignored the jabs about his intelligence, after all, *she* was the one who took vacation in order to experiment on herself with highly infectious diseases. How she managed not to fry her own brains from the rampant fevers he still didn't know and hoped never to have to mitigate again.

"I can't bake cake. I need help." She sighed in defeat. 

Plating his breakfast and leaning against the counter to eat, he pondered the problem. "Are you following the directions in the book?"

"All Amestrian book! I follow, I bake! First cake explode, second I put in twenty five minutes, in five minutes is fire!" 

"Sounds like you're mis-measuring your dry ingredients, flour is exceptionally flammable." He muttered around a bite. Light and fluffy, just as he liked it. "You didn't try to alchemize them together did you?"

"Only first time. Second I follow book!"

He hummed thoughtfully. "Are you using white flour or cake flour?"

"Flour is flour!"

"That's like saying sugar is sugar and a vaccine is a vaccine, Doctor." He grinned, methodically polishing off his pate. "Why are you attempting the fine arts of the kitchen anyway?"

"For anniversary party. No fair Gracia make her own cake."

He nodded and set his dishes aside. "Alright, I'll be over in a bit, try not to destroy anything important."

\--------------------------------------

Despite being her commanding officer since the war, he'd never actually been to her living quarters. He knew her address simply because it was on file. The building was plain gray brick, blocky and inelegant. Cramped in between other buildings of the same stripe, he almost walked past it. There was no doorman, and the lock on the front entrance had been removed, probably because the property owner couldn't be bothered to locate a key. 

The stairs were solid, and when he looked, appeared alchemized into the walls. The top story, only four floors high, showed water stains on the stair well ceiling and peeling paint on the door numbers. The hardwood floors were cracked, splintering and gray. For all that it was within walking distance of the hospital the tenement screamed poverty. 

Shaking his head he knocked on number 414, the one door that gleamed with fresh paint in military blue with sharp silver numbers. 

"Come in!"

Letting himself in, he realized that again there was no lock, but considering she could simply transmute the door into a wall, it hardly concerned him. in stark contrast to the rest he'd seen, her walls were thick and plastered with a sea-green tint. her windows were glazed panes, rainbows flickering over the polished dark wood floors. The air smelled of incense, lemons, and burning sugar. 

Looking around he realized she must have taken the dividing walls and transmuted them into the double thickness of her perimeter ones, only two doors at the far end of the single room indicating where her toilet and sleeping rooms were. On one side of the main room was her kitchen, on the other a wall of book shelves and large pillows on the floor for sitting, with a low table obviously salvaged from someone's yard sale. 

Zhu herself was in the kitchen wearing her low slung loose fighting pants and a white undershirt, the black ink of her tattoo peaking up from the sloping back neckline. The kitchen itself, he realized, looked far too polished and shined. Looking into the trash bin he chuckled at the blackened form of something sort of cake shaped, hastily buried under a lot of other charred flotsam. 

"You come help cook or snoop?" She asked with her arms crossed defensively under her breasts. Arching a brow he looked over the set up.

"You are aware that 'cup' is a unit of measurement, not a container of choice?" he pointed out, seeing the glass he would bet good money she used only for alcohol rimmed in white powder in the sink. 

"Why not measure in weight? All alchemy in weight!" she argued, gesturing to the perfectly standard scale on the counter. 

"Baking and cooking in general may be the birthplace of alchemy, but it is considered an *art*, not a science." He countered, idly opening and examining her cupboards. There was an unfortunate but unsurprising amount of alchemic ingredients, all carefully labelled and stored, from aconite to lead to Jacob's root. he didn't find actual food until the refrigerator which was stocked with milk, eggs, mess hall left overs and the bleached white flour for some reason.

'Because it's food' his brain tried to tell him but that couldn't be true. Her cookware seemed to consist of a set of dishware, a single fry pan, and a much abused now cake tin. "Where are your teaspoons?" He asked, dreading the answer.

She made a noise of frustration, scratching at the stained bandana covering her hair. "I make Xing tea. No spoon Xing tea!"

That was the answer he feared. Running a few mental calculations, he headed straight for the back rooms. 

"What you doing? Toilet on left! Left!" she hurried after him, but he got her bedroom door open and took int all in, in its painful starkness, before she could grab the handle and pull it shut. "Pervert horse! I no give permission go there!"

"It's sterile. You sleep on the *floor* on a mat, Major, and your closet has no doors, with nothing more interesting in it than your uniform. Your kitchen is barren, your furniture second hand, your personal possessions decidedly few." Ticking off his fingers he continued. "You hardly date, rarely eat out, and other than splurging on the Lieutenant, alchemize almost everything you need rather than buy it. You make a decent salary, I seem to recall signing off on it every month, so where exactly are your funds going?"

She glared at him fiercely, shoving him away from her door. "Not your business bastard equine."

He settled back on his heels, eyes hard. "I could make an inquiry into your financial records, but that makes it official. If I'm asking the questions, chances are someone else probably is as well."

She stared at the floor for a long moment then sighed. "Hospital. It goes hospital. Patient can't pay, nurse needs classes, equipment old..." She shrugged. "It goes hospital."

He knew better than to touch the issue of paying for civilian patients, and taking care of her nurses was her own business. Equipment on the other hand... "You need to run equipment purchases past me first Doctor, the hospital has a budget it needs to account for." He made a mental not to delve into those records and find out who, if anyone, she'd managed to flag with her expenditures.

"None of this is cake! You here to be helping make cake!" She argued, dismissing him and his orders out of hand. He bit back his own frustration, knowing by now how to work *around* her self destructive tendencies. 

"You have neither the equipment, nor the proper ingredients." He grinned and this time she edged away in latent survival interest. "I believe my dear, it's time to go shopping."

\------------------------------------

Roy smiled charmingly at the shop girl as her geriatric father dragged the Green Alchemist around by the wrist and ranted about the merits of copper over steel in baking dishes. 

"So, you must appreciate a lovely dinner. What's your favorite meal?" He purred at her, watching her blue eyes go wider and a faint blush highlight the freckles over her cheeks. 

"Ah... uhm.. my mother makes good casserole..." She stammered. Mentally he downgraded her probable age to a little bit more than legal. 

"Hmm, I don't suppose she'd share her famous recipe then?" He asked with a feigned sigh. Somewhere in the shop a series of loud bangs resounded among some muffled Xing swears. 

She startled like a woodland creature. "I should... uh grandpa..."

"I'm sure he's fine, Doctor Spitfire is just a bit clumsy outside of her natural environment of the medical ward." He reassured her, letting his voice drop to a throaty rumble. 

From the sudden flush from her ears down the neck of her blouse, he hadn't yet lost his touch. 

"You know," he continued, enjoying the way she bit her lip in apprehension and torn impulse, "I've been told I make an adequate chicken parmesan, if you'd ever care to... rate my skill."

\----------------------------------------

"Sadistic pervert Pony Colonel." Zhu muttered, carrying the sacks of her new cookware with the air of an angry cat. 

"With a new phone number and hopefully an interesting Friday night next week." He agreed with a grin. 

\------------------------------------------

The frosting wasn't quite right, but then he'd had to explain that buttermilk was not an alchemy of salted butter and milk. Still, it was edible, and somewhat pretty, and Zhu's kitchen was only moderately destroyed. 

It was a success. A moderate, underwhelming success, but given that Gracia hadn't had to make it (or deal with the furious ranting and raving of a Green Alchemist who thought duck eggs and chicken eggs were interchangeable and buttering a dish meant melting the butter and pouring it in) he felt satisfied. Zhu being the perfectionist she was kept grumbling about alchemizing something better, but he refused to participate in *that* experiment. 

"The party is tomorrow, I assume we can put this safely in the fridge... wait, no, there's no room in your fridge for actual *food*." He grimaced tiredly.

"I have food!"

"You have mess slop. You know we're at peace, you can eat real food. You could learn to *cook*."

She waved a hand tiredly, rummaging through the fridge and pulling out various take out containers and shoving things around to make room for the cake. "Mess make food, why not eat?"

"The mess makes *slop*, hense the term. It hardly qualifies as food." He countered, folding his arms over his chest and watching her backside wriggle half interestingly. "You're very poor wife material you realize, barely a house keeper, can't cook, zealous overworker who's hardly home, and can't even drive." She glared at him over her shoulder. "I'm just saying Major, you're going to make someone very unhappy someday."

"You cooked your brain instead of cake. Get out of my house."

"It's not even a house. It's a *repository*." He muttered. "Maes should be hounding you not me."

"Maes want to *live*." She pointed out, shoving the cake into the fridge with enough force to dent the frosting. He'd fix it tomorrow. Maybe. 

With a smirk he relaxed back against the counter, looking her over the way that would get him brought up on fraternization charges if that were a thing among State Alchemists. "If you killed me you'd make Riza sad, so I consider myself quite safe *Major*."

Her lips twitched into a vicious smirk, a similar assessing heat in her expression as she closed the fridge with her hip. "I make it up to her. I make *her* Fuher."

She'd be terrifyingly competent at it. 

With a sigh he let the challenge drop. Riza was there to guard his back, Zhu was there to watch *hers*. 

"Until tomorrow, Major."

"Get out stupid horse."

\-----------------------------------------------------

Gracia's smile and Maes crow of delight made up for the actual *taste* when they finally got around to cutting the damned thing and serving it.


	5. Meddling with Command

Roy sighed and stared at the mountain of paperwork trying valiantly to collapse his desk. With power, came forms in triplicate and security clearances and expense reports. Every time it seemed he'd conquered a pile and set it to be taken away, someone usually Hawkeye, set another one on top twice as high.

More than half of course came from his predecessor for whom the words 'efficiency' and 'backlog' had never been explained. If the man ever returned from commanding troops near Creta he'd enjoy transmuting General Vickers into a decorative paperweight.

When he became Fuher, this would be a task he gave the people he didn't like. The ones he didn't drop right into a cell somewhere. Surely if there was a Hell as so many religions claimed, the desk of a Colonel was part of it.

"These are the most current." Hawkeye told him as she interrupted his day dream of Gran Basque covered in papercuts with another stack.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach he realized the top sheets were in Xing. 

"Extra strong coffee please Lieutenant." He sighed, picking up the packet that constituted Spitfire's weekly 'report'. Not only was it in Xing, it was in double code. Sometimes triple. When he wasn't cursing her for a foul-hearted harpy shrew he was taking notes to improve his own journals. 

This time not only was it written Xing style from right to left, but she'd done it back to front as well, bottom to top. In the style of poetry. Warrior death poetry about bodies and blood and the futility of war. After a few hours cracking that he mostly got ranting about how stupid the commanding General Carcano was and how she'd like to dump him and Mustang both in a cesspit. Intermingled with questions of their ancestry and dubious sexual prowess were the hard numbers of men wounded, killed or captured. Aerugo had no intention of surrendering an inch of blood drenched soil, and as the years ground on that soil was getting steadily more crimson. 

Transcribing the most useful of the numbers into something he could actually present, a pattern caught his eye. Spitfire typically made something of a point never to repeat her insults, and yet he'd seen the term pervert and bastard at least five times... 

Going back to the original Xing characters he fought down a shiver. //I Need Help. Send M-Stone. Supply Line Compromised.//

She was only two months into the six month tour he'd assigned her. How bad could the lines be, that she was asking for *those*?

"Lieutenant, get me Captain Hughes on the line please, and requisition forms 9140 A and C."

Hawkeye's brows went up for just a moment, then she was back to her bland stoicism. "Sir."

It was a day for drinking and bets when Mustang asked for *more* paperwork. Damn that little witch.

\------------------------------------

"Compromised?" Hughes eyebrows went almost through his hairline before he became serious. "Did she specify if it was just alchemy or medical supplies?"

Roy shook his head slightly, dedicating himself to his coffee. "Nothing, but considering who she is and what she's asking for..."

Maes eyes went flinty for a moment. "Things are getting desperate. More desperate than usual for a war that's been going on since we were our parent's imaginings."

"Could anyone have ever imagined you Hughes? I find it terribly improbable."

"You flatterer, I can see why the ladies all swoon. What would *she* need *that* stuff for anyway? It's not for use on like... people right?"

Roy stared at his cup, but all he saw was the past. 

\---------------------------------------

_//M-stones. All this suffering and... and *killing* people is for some damned M-stones?//_

_//Philosopher's stones. Incomplete ones but... it's the first time anyone has come close to even producing that. Marcoh is a genius. A twisted murdering genius maybe but...//_

_//So what?! They're just M-stones! They're worthless against people's *lives*! He's murdering people for power! Borrowed power!//_

_//And you gave him the idea.//_

_//What?!//_

_//Well, no you gave him the insight to make it *work*. What you did with your potions, the way you refined your materials... that was the catalyst for his Crystal Array. He already had the idea... this war is his laboratory but...//_

_She was so pale, so horrified, he almost felt sorry when she started to vomit, if he could have felt anything through the numbness._

\---------------------------------------

"They boost any alchemy, including the alchemy she uses to create her medicines. She's either running herself into an alchemist's exhaustion, or she has enough people who will die without the most powerful curatives she can create that she's desperate enough to use the very things she despises."  


Maes still looked worried. No, he looked more worried. "Can you.. I mean can we even *get*..."

Roy couldn't keep the grimness from his tone. "There's stockpiles."

His friend blanched nearly white before he managed anything like control. Thankfully no one at this hour paid attention to anything but their breakfasts. "What?"

"Marcoh's research wasn't complete, not by a long shot but the process for *those*... we couldn't keep it enough of a secret from the higher brass. What was left over from Ishvar got locked up, studied, and replicated. I don't know all the details but... every State Alchemist since the war has been issued a few. Requesting more is just a matter of forms."

"But *who*..."

"Maes. There are some questions it's not safe to ask until one has no enemies of power *left*." Roy cautioned, still staring into the past. "I need you and the boys on this one, the supply lines have to be kept clear."

"Right... right. Let me make some calls. Why did you send her to the front lines any way? *Again* I mean, this is her third tour if you count Ishvar." And none of us ever care to see another battlefield since then he doesn't say with anything but his telling silence. 

"Captain, there comes a point where she's safer tending to immediate triage, than letting herself get strange ideas in the safety of a civilized hospital." I can't keep her from trying to kill herself, Roy said with his bleak eyes, but I can give an honest enemy the chance to do it for her.

\----------------------------------------------

The report from Major Armstrong three weeks later indicated that his Second Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosch had successfully delivered the shipment of supplies to the commanding medical officer on the ground, aka Major Spitfire. They were stopped not by brigands and rebels or even Aeruga hijackers, but the General himself, one General Carcano. The General had not issued the supply request and was therefor quite surprised to find it there. 

He had also not approved any requests since coming into command ten months ago, except for food and ammunition. 

The General did not 'approve' of the 'look' of Second Lieutenant Ross, and made rather suspicious commentary regarding Major Spitfire's abilities due to her ancestry and gender. 

Major Armstrong had apparently, at that point, made a few comments about his own elder sister Major General Olivier Armstrong, and her strong friendship with Major Spitfire, as well as a point to the fact that while Major Spitfire was not the combat alchemist General Carcano had hoped for, General Carcano had not *been* in Ishvar. 

Nor had he dealt with the likes of Doctor Knox and Doctor Marcoh. One who was there simply to study the dead and one who was there to kill, and ended up running. 

Somewhere about that point, the report says, Major Spitfire had come out of the tent, grabbed the shipment entirely with a clap of hands and hands alchemized from the ground, beamed at Major Armstrong as 'if they had been separated for years and wished only to test their mighty warrior spirits and fighting fervor in a beautiful spar'. Roy assumed there'd been sparkles and even fewer clothes involved at that point. 

Roy had never personally met General Carcano, but he was already wording a polite letter reminding the man that Major Spitfire was on *loan* and he could keep her for the price of a good bottle of vodka. He was also planning on asking Brigadier General Grumman if there weren't a way to *audit* the man and make sure that supplies weren't going 'missing'. It wouldn't be the first time after all a supply line to the troops became a piggy bank to a man's pocket. 

Five more months until the Harpy was here trying to claw out his eyes again, he'd try to savor it and get some actual work done.


	6. Meddling with Medicine

Roy basked in the simple pleasure of a desk entirely free of paperwork. It was lunch time, so he had about thirty minutes to appreciate the sheer novelty before it was over. Still, after months of battle, the feeling of satisfied conquest was hard to dampen. Pulling one of his personal projects out from the bottom drawer, he settled into his chair more comfortably to read the untranslated version of the Xinganese classic 'Fifty Clans'. 

So enthralled was he in the imagery of the battle between Red Rebel General Chang Yunzha and Gan Ye that he completely missed Maes's entrance until the man thrust a series of baby pictures over onto the page he was reading. 

"Isn't she adorable?!"

"Give me a moment to adjust my mental imagery away from dismembered guerrilla fighters and I'll have a better reply for you." Roy answered, putting a bookmark into the volume.

"You and your disgusting hobbies, really, you need to get a wife already." Maes laughed, tossing himself into one of Roy's 'guest' chairs. Thankfully not the one Edward had tampered with. Roy was waiting to 'fix' it until he thought of an appropriate punishment for the boy. 

Roy tucked his book back in his desk and steepled his fingers. "The world at large trembles at the notion of my reproduction Hughes. What brings you here besides a lack of victims?" 

"Aw come on, you'd be, well, I wouldn't say a *great* father but I'm sure you couldn't be any worse at it than anyone *else*."

"Such confidence in my parental abilities."

"Yeah, I can see you leaving the poor tyke to your minions for watching already!"

"And Havok teaching them to smoke. Truly, you inspire me old friend."

"It's almost September." Hughes pointed out, as if that was relevant. Roy's train of thought clanked, shuddered, and switched tracks abruptly though he only allowed himself to blink once. 

"It is. Should I be concerned about possible untimely vacations again?" He leaned his chin onto his fingers, watching the conflicting emotions flitter across Hughe's face. The man was loyal to a fault, the fault being when he was loyal to people *other* than Gracia, Alecia and Roy. 

"Well September is when school usually starts, and the Elric's, look I know that they don't *have* to go to school but it seems like they ought to have more than a basic education from alchemy tutors you know? Maybe someone to look after them and make sure they have the basics all the other kids their ages would get. Phys Ed, History, Maths..."

"Unless you are volunteering yourself to this exercise in futility Captain, I'm sure we needn't waste resources and effort making sure our youngest State Alchemist can *read* and *add*." Roy snorted, trying not to imagine a crater where a school had once stood. 

"Okay, maybe more advanced sorts of subjects. They're smart boys. Alphonse likes biology right?" Now Maes's face had that distinct expression Roy had come to associate with dangerous schemes and clandestine plots. Usually at the expense of the military repair budget. 

Alphonse. Alphonse was a bit of a tricky thorn that Roy had to work *around* while running Edward at problems. If the boy's secret was ever revealed... ever revealed to people who had the power to do something *about* it... And it was only a matter of time, truly until that happened... 

He'd lose them both, and probably his own life for harboring them. Conspiracy might get him imprisoned, but conspiracy alone wasn't nearly as damning as outright betrayal of the government. When he'd recruited them, he'd set his own timeline for events in fast motion, because there *would* come a day when he could no longer be their secret guardian and whether they found the stone or not, everyone in Roy's little cabal of mutineers would fall under the sword of the Fuher. 

"I suppose," He said slowly, weighing the pros and cons of the idea before him, "That you're going to next suggest that Alphonse be privately tutored by someone well versed in the subject, who has no small amount of free time coming to her in the form of earned vacation, and who typically takes her vacation right here in the city." 

Hughes shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands. "It's not a *bad* idea! We could always use more alchemists trained in medical alchemy right? It keeps the kid learning and out of trouble as a delinquent!"  


"It will also cut into Major Spitfire's personal research time you realize." Roy pointed out.

"What research? She passes her annual exam every year based on field martial aptitude, and consistently fails to use more than a third of her grant funds." Maes waved his hands as though dismissing the entire thing. 

It was true of course, but even if she set out to fail and turned in nothing but Alecia's finger-paintings for research, she'd still be a Major. The government would no sooner turn her out than they'd give Roy the boot, or send Edward back to the family farm. Some alchemists really were worth more than others. 

They might however, finally flex their authority muscles and chain her down in a lab somewhere. Some place Roy couldn't *reach*.

"I'll let *you* be the one to deliver the paperwork to her then." Roy said, grinning just a bit at the sudden shift of panic white in his old friend's complexion. 

\-------------------------------------

"What this?! I not babysitter! I doctor!" Spitfire slammed the folder onto Roy's desk so hard the wood gave a muted cracking noise. 

"I believe that is Captain Hughes's suggested course of evaluation for Alphonse Elric in regards to the medical certification requirements. As you are the head of the State Alchemist Medical Program it is your duty to oversee all the candidates evaluations." Roy replied calmly, flipping idly through the finely typed legalese. 

"I evaluate State Alchemist! Alphonse not State Alchemist!" She argued, bristling like a cat in a room full of poorly leashed canines. 

Roy nodded. "He is not *yet* a State Alchemist, however he has shown great promise and a distinct inclination to medical alchemy. It would behoove the Army to no end to ensure that he receives the education and training he will require in order to pass the exams *when* he is able to take them. Since I have here already your requested leave papers, I see no reason not to indulge the Captain on the matter and give Alphonse the best private tutor the state can afford."

"My vacation not for teaching! My vacation for research!" She shouted. He watched her clenched fists, just in case she decided to use them for more than disfiguring his furniture. 

"If you needed research time, materials, or space, there are five laboratories in the city all set up for those express purposes, and a number of forms I can provide for those express reasons. There is no reason you should have to waste your vacation time on private research when the government is willing to sponsor it, *Major*."

She was nearly vibrating with frustration, his own shoulders were beginning to ache in sympathy with how tightly she was holding herself. "Labs always in use! Research take long time! No food, no water, apartment make more sense! I know what I do, I not need babysitter!"

"No," He agreed. "You need *help*. I will not condone a repeat of September 1910." He said softly, the steel in his tone finally breaking through.

\--------------------------------------- __

_He was just getting used to the idea of an office. Someplace with four solid walls and a window overlooking actual grass and trees instead of sand and dust. Sure it was small and filled with someone else's left over messes, but it was still better than a tent and mortar fire. East City was an entirely different world from Ishvar, even if it failed to hold his friends._

_Hughes and Spitfire were both back in Central, far enough away to make him worry, placed well enough to give him a measure of Intel he could *use*.  
_

_The phone ringing brought him back from daydreams of Madam Christmas's warm shop to the reality of his (disorganized, filthy, possibly mold infested) new office. "Yes?"_

_"Cheer up! Guess who has the most beautiful, wonderful, intelligent wife in the whole world?!"_

_Roy smiled despite himself, holding the receiver far from his ear. He'd managed to retain most of his hearing through the war, he'd rather not lose it now because of his friend's 'enthusiasm'. "Why she ever agreed to marry *you* when there are so many richer catches in the sea..."_

_The outraged squawking was only his just due he supposed for missing the big day in question._

_Shifting through the mountain of his predecessor's overdue log books, he wondered if setting the place on fire could somehow be made to look accidental._

_"Anyway, I actually called for a reason you cold-hearted playboy." Hughes sniffed dramatically over the line. Roy could almost picture the spectacle he must be making in order to clear the room._

_"Is that so, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten in your fit of matrimonial madness." Roy replied blandly. Hawkeye gave him, and his gloves, a pointed look from her own desk across the room._

_"Well my wife is just so *wonderful* she deserves to be appreciate even by the uncouth masses! If you'd hurry up and get hitched yourself old man you might get to experience a *fraction* of my bliss!"_

_"Say that loud enough and the Fuher will outlaw the practice for State Alchemists on grounds of national security."_

_"You're not the only one getting long in the tooth either. How long of a vacation did you give Spitfire again? And I only got a three day honeymoon?"_

_"She has twenty days for travel and research Captain, your leave papers are not my jurisdiction and if they were I'd have put you on two days alone in case you lost so many intelligence points you needed transferred to the infantry." Scribbling his signature across a handful of requisition forms he didn't even read, Roy shoved the bundle into his overflowing 'out' box._

_"Twenty huh? You alchemists and your 'research', she's probably just out at the beach enjoying a martini."_

_"If she can pass off the report as scientific, she can *keep* the cabana boy." He wondered what his friend's angle was. Twenty days wasn't actually that long for a research vacation, not with the state of the trains lately and the fact she'd put a small town called 'Valienfell' as her destination. He'd had to actually look on a map to find it, tucked in the mountains of the West Area on the line south of West City._

_"I'll tell her you said 'Hi' when she comes back then. After Major Armstrong of course."_

_Alarm bells rang through Roy's mind but for once he utterly failed to understand his friend's code. With trepidation turning his blood cold he stared at his papers blindly. Had she finally decided to *run*? Had someone dug deep enough to discover that Dr. Marcoh's 'discoveries' were nothing more than creative ways to murder? Had the old man been *found* and thrown her to the wolves?_

_"Tell her I expect a full and *readable* report as well." He said finally._

_\------------------------------------_

_"How bad?" He asked, staring at the photos Maes had slipped in with his weekly packet of 'Look how gorgeous my wife is' material. Fuery had assured him the phone was as secure as it could possibly be, and the mail had been delivered by one of Major Armstrong's personally vested Lieutenants._

_Hughes voice sounded... old. "She was in a coma for two days. Raging fever and delusions for three. She's fine now, lost about about five to eight pounds she didn't *have* but... fine."_

_One of the pictures showed Spitfire as she'd been found, curled over the toilet naked, one hand limply holding a broken pen, a mess of scribbled notes on the floor. Another picture showed her half dressed in a tub of water, staring blankly at nothing._

_"The cure?"_

_"Fully viable, it just requires more than one dose. Four, to be exact. She managed to create a vaccine as well, from herself... the hospital is already working on synthesizing it for mass production."_

_Of course she did. She'd probably planned it all out that way._

_"You were aware of her plans, and didn't see fit to give me any warning?" He kept his voice level, almost idly curious, as he studied the picture of Armstrong holding her in a gentle and thorough pin. The man looked beside himself with worry and shame, while Spitfire simply appeared murderous. "That implies that this is not a *new* habit of hers, Captain. I should sincerely hope your secrecy *is*."_

_The silence on the other end of the line spoke volumes. Roy tossed the photos (not the ones of Gracia) into his bin and set them ablaze with a single snap. Hawkeye gave him a very bland look from where she was pointedly polishing one of her pistols._

_Finally Hughes sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think she'd let it go that far. I can't, *we* can't, blame her for her ethical integrity you know."_

_"No, we can't. However, her suicidal tendencies and utter lack of self worth can not be allowed to cost the Military its best medical alchemist. From now on I want *reports* Captain, and an eye on her." Briefly he remembered Kimbly, the mans psychopathic delight in murder, his almost paramount need for attention. How the Crimson Alchemist had ever passed the psychological battery exam to qualify for rank Mustang had never figured out... until the fighting started._

_Spitfire never would have passed either, but then, she'd been officially drafted._

\----------------------------------------------

"As I see it Major, we have a compromise before us. You wish to do your research, and I wish for you to have on hand an *assistant*. If you really object to the younger Elric, then all you need to do is find a suitable candidate you trust to replace him. Until then I'm not granting leave for any period of time greater than three days." Roy flicked the folder shut and sat back.

She glared at him for a few long moments then turned on her heel and stalked out without a word or even a slam of the door. 

It was their first argument without some kind of property damage, but he didn't think that was a particularly good sign. 

"Lieutenant, pass along to the men that for the foreseeable future, we're on emergency drills. No extended leave."

He could be petty, or he could be *fair*, and he knew what kind of Fuher he was going to be one day. 

"As you say, Sir."

\------------------------------------------------

After the first week passed, he was slightly optimistic. By the end of the second, that optimism had been replaced with cynical realism. Alchemists as a whole tended to be a paranoid and secretive lot, State Alchemists doubly so since funding and promotions went hand in hand with finding better ways to kill someone else. 

Add to that the language barrier, the cultural divide, and the fact that Spitfire was a woman in a field dominated by men and who really would she ask to be locked in her room for days on end with an infectious disease? 

Her friends could be counted amongst the nurses she had personally trained, Roy's own staff, the Armstrong family and the Elrics. Of the alchemists she might allow to see her work, to study it while she was at her lowest point, who even had the basic knowledge to understand it? Major Armstrong's illustrious family rarely dabbled in alchemy outside of advanced artistry and pugilism, and the Elrics while both geniuses, were *children*. Alphonse might be the most logical choice owing to his immunity but he was also only 13!

He wondered if she had even considered the joy of having Roy sick and helpless as a perk, or if his name had never crossed her mind. 

After all, there was no reason for her to trust him. He'd given her to a government she hated, gift wrapped her alchemy for a man that perverted it, then chained her to a cause that required her serve a man and nation she utterly loathed. He'd sent her to the front lines to patch men back together multiple times to keep her from testing on herself, and perhaps most damning, he hurt the one person in the world she genuinely *loved*. 

She might forgive him the rest someday. Never for the scars on Hawkeye's back, asked for or not.

No, she had no reason to trust Roy to take care of her while she tried to cure something virulent and lethal with her alchemy.

Roy grinned ruefully to himself. She wouldn't let that stop her though, not forever.

\---------------------------------------

"I teach Alphonse. Not on vacation. Vacation for other thing." She growled, pacing around his office. Her jewelry was of a distinct butterfly motif today, the chopsticks vibrant orange and black. 

"Alright, I'll see what sort of schedule I can set up between your hospital work and the Elric's missions." He murmured. "That means you've selected someone else to be your research assistant?"  


She glared at him, long nails tapping on her jacket sleeve with a canvas sort of rasp. "You have basement?"

He didn't smile. If he smiled, she'd hit him, and he liked his teeth. "I do."

"You help me. *This* time only. I find better, smarter person next time."

"Of course. I'll even make us dinner." He offered generously, hiding his grin of triumph until she'd left his office with a slam so hard it broke the door jam.


End file.
